The Wolf and the Moon
by Stelra Etnae
Summary: If he was the wolf, then she was the moon that he howled to. She was his madness, his craving, his addiction. His.


_She had been the gem in Rome's empire._

Her name was known far and wide; her beauty and wit unparalleled. Lustrous black hair cascaded in rich curls down the regal curve of her back, framing a pale face with eyes that reflected her seas in mid-summer. Heads turned as she passed, breathing in the sight of her and the soft scent that always followed. Sometimes it was rose, on other days lilies, or sweet cinnamon; but often it was the delicate mystery of the iris, cold like the swirling pools of her eyes.

 _She had been the gem in Rome's empire, and had stood strong even as Rome fell._

* * *

 _He was the wolf of the East._

There were whispers of an empire in the making, telling of a handsome young warrior with rich olive skin and eyes like the midnight sky. The wives gossiped and giggled in the baths, dancing around her with tales of swooning maidens and shattered hearts. She laughed, waved them away. They shook their heads at her, laughing back.

They whispered and watched with sly knowing smiles later, when the young warrior showed up at her doorstep.

 _He was the wolf of the East, and to her he claimed his eternal love._

* * *

The game they played was one of courtship and promises.

He, her young suitor, would bring perfumes and jewelry to fall at her feet. Turkish rose oils and heady incense, onyxes and emeralds that glittered in intricate gold, silks lighter than gauze, anklets that chimed like the wind. She never wore any of it, and he never mentioned it even as he pressed kisses to her bare wrist, breathing in the scent of irises.

 _(She knew the game, and knew how to play it. Rome had fallen, but she had not.)_

* * *

They embraced beneath the stars, skin against skin, breath mingling with breath. Afterwards, slim fingers would trace his still-childish features, trailing down the side of his face. "Tell me. Where does your loyalty lie?" she would whisper.

Every time he would catch her hand and bring it his lips reverently. "With you. Forever."

And each time she would smile at him, but it would never reach her eyes. But he did not see, not in the dim half-light of the crescent moon.

* * *

He'd become taller than her, face grown sharp and angular, the tan skin stretched over his muscled arm contrasting with the soft white skin of her stomach as he pulled her to him. They still made love under the stars, and still she asked every time. "Where does your loyalty lie?"

"With you."

Still her eyes didn't smile.

* * *

Her son clung to her skirt, green eyes huge and cautious. He beamed at the boy, but was met with rejection that he pouted at. She chuckled, deep and throaty, as he tried to curry the favor of a child less than half his height. He ultimately failed, but as he whispered to her huskily later, the only favor he really needed was hers.

They stole away at night, when the rest of the household was asleep. He carried her easily in his arms, and neither of them commented on how strong he had become or how thin she was growing.

"Where does your loyalty lie?"

There was a hesitation this time before he answered. "With you."

* * *

The clash of battle rings both in her head and outside the walls. She is standing in the gardens, the last oasis of peace in the collapsing palace. Of course he is the one to find her; he always knew where she was. He comes to stand behind her, close enough for her to feel the heat of the fire but not the warmth of his skin.

She has the same question for him, but this time he must have a different answer.

"Where does your loyalty lie?"

His voice is quiet but strong. "With my people. With myself."

She finally turns, and her eyes are full of smiles and tears. His eyes are full of grief and the fires that rage outside the walls. Her hand traces his face, his jaw harsh and trembling slightly from the force that he clenched it. "That's the right answer, my love," she whispers.

And there is red spreading across her white dress, beginning from where his saber protruded from her heart.

"Why?" he chokes past the ashes in his throat.

She looks again at the wall, as if she could see past it to her crumbling legacy. Perhaps she does see the fires, for her eyes were clouding with smoke. She doesn't answer, but he already knows.

* * *

They were nations, and there was only one end for those who loved too much.


End file.
